


remember that you are (mostly) water

by TheSilverQueen



Category: Basic Instinct (Movies), Doctor Strange (2016), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom
Genre: #HannibalOdyssey, Hannibal Cre-Ate-ive, M/M, rarepair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9511154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSilverQueen/pseuds/TheSilverQueen
Summary: Kamar-Taj is a place that collects broken things. Kaecilius is broken in soul and heart, grieving for the family he has lost. Adam Towers is broken in body and mind, grieving for the limbs he can no longer use. But perhaps together, they can find a new future.





	1. of love stories

**Author's Note:**

> My (almost late) entry to Hannibal Cre-Ate-Ive's [#HannibalOdyssey fest](http://hannibalcreative.tumblr.com/post/154688733799/we-love-the-show-canon-we-love-our-rarepairs-the)!
> 
> Also, I'm really surprised that this ship hasn't been used a lot on AO3 yet. *shrugs* HERE'S SOME STRANGE INSTINCT FOR YOU. Or is it Basic Strange? Whatever. Here. Have it and some kittens too. And some Kaecilius bondage *winks*
> 
> Title is based off of a Margaret Atwood quote.
> 
> Finally, HUGE thanks to [hachiseiko](http://http://hachiseiko.tumblr.com) for allowing me to toss ideas at them and kindly sorting through the bad, the good, and ugly until something mostly coherent emerged. Also thanks to [byk23](http://byk23.tumblr.com) for letting me pick their brain about medical stuff (AKA how Adam could have survived). That being said, all mistakes are mine :D

There are love stories and then there are love stories. Most of the former involve a dashing prince and beautiful princess, a rescuer and a rescued, a true love’s curse and a true love’s kiss. 

This story, however, is one of the latter.

It is about a man who is much more a man and a man who is not a man at all. It is about a man born of water and a man forged by fire. It is about a man who thought he had nothing left to lose and a man who thought he had nothing left to gain. It is about a man who thought he had felt everything in the world and a man who thought he could no longer feel anything. Because the thing is: sometimes love is not about beauty or the rescue or the breaking of the curse.

Sometimes, love is about holding on, even as the curse breaks you apart.

* * *

The whisper about Kamar-Taj is that it is a place that collects broken things. Kaecilius is not about to deny this; he himself was a broken thing, a man without cause or family or connection who stumbled in searching for something, anything, and was granted a tiny seed of hope. 

That is not to say that he is fixed. Some things can never be fixed.

But one can sew patches over rips and seal cracks with glue, and this is what Kaecilius is now. Whole, but different, and with cracks and rips still showing through.

Still, even he has never seen someone quite as broken as the young man some of the acolytes are now laying down before the Ancient One. He has heard of him, of course, this Adam Towers, even more broken and damaged than Jonathan Pangborn, for at least Jonathan could still move his arms and head. Adam Towers was beaten and strangled, and the damage to his spine and spinal cord ensures that he will quite possibly never move again.

“Welcome,” the Ancient One says.

“Ancient One,” Adam replies. He opens his eyes, and once Kaecilius imagines they must have been quite beautiful indeed, blue as the sky and sea. Now they are dull. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“And I you.”

It’s a lie, of course. No one tells the Ancient One anything about those broken ones who come begging at her doorstep. She merely has to look.

Kaecilius tunes the next parts of the conversation out. It is not truly interesting, this man’s story; Kaecilius has heard many like it. If he is judged worthy to stay, then perhaps he will listen, but Kaecilius is a master in his own right and he rarely is called upon to train the newest acolytes. And if the Ancient One judges this man unworthy to study with them, well, that would just be a waste of time to listen. Some would call it cruel, perhaps, but life is cruel. Kaecilius is merely practical.

It always ends the same way, though: a beggar, clutching desperately at the sleeve of one who might save them.

The Ancient One touches his hand. “Perhaps, in time,” she says. “Master Kaecilius?”

It’s always amusing to see how people react when he bows and steps forward into the light. Each master is unconventional, in their own way, but most of the rest still walk into the “normal” world and therefore although their clothing is more practical for Kamar-Taj, the colors are still muted.

Kaecilius sees no reason for that. They are not normal. They are sorcerers. 

The man’s eyes grow gratifyingly wide when he stands next to the Ancient One, clad in bright oranges and yellows, his hair long and braided, his boots worn and sturdy. Although, to be fair, the man might also just be reacting to the fact that Kaecilius appears so much taller from his vantage point, lying on the ground.

The man himself doesn’t look like much. Short, curly brown hair. Washed-out blue eyes. Fair skin, apart from the ugly slow-healing bruises at his throat.

 _He_ looks normal.

“Will you conduct him to a room and see that he is settled?”

“Of course.”

“Gently. He is, after all, our guest.”

Kaecilius bites his tongue. The Ancient One’s tone would seem nonchalant to any guest, but Kaecilius is a master of seeing the truth beneath the pretty, plain disguise. The Ancient One apparently does not wish him to use magic. He’s heard of such requests before, but to be accepted into the training of the Ancient One means acknowledging magic. There is no reason to hide their strength from those who might wish to steal from them.

“I will do my best,” Kaecilius says, and only uses a little bit of magic to lift the man as he gathers him carefully in his arms.

Part of this is because he catches the way the Ancient One frowns at him.

The other part is because, actually, the man hardly weighs much at all. He may not be able to walk due to broken bones, but to Kaecilius he feels like nothing more like broken bones and sagging skin. When they cross the courtyard, the man winces and shies away from the light, and it makes the sallow, malnourished nature of his skin all the more apparent. He is patches and pieces, loosely bound together and about ready to fall apart at the seams. The sight is unsettlingly familiar.

 _Another broken pot to add to Kamar-Taj’s collection,_ Kaecilius finds himself thinking.

He settles the man in a quiet section of the quarters of the acolytes, on the ground floor where he and those assigned to help him won’t run into too much trouble. It’s easier to get him settled; the man is slight and silent, even though Kaecilius can see the way he winces as he lowers him.

“Someone will be with you shortly to help you bathe and prepare yourself. If you know how to and desire to meditate, I would suggest you do so. The Ancient One will call you.”

“Don’t you want to know my name?” the man calls out, just as Kaecilius heads for the door.

“Not particularly, no.”

“Why, you don’t find me interesting? Can’t be many quadriplegics here.”

The man’s tone is . . . strange. Not cocky, as though boasting of a feat and hoping for the automatic pity of bystanders for a victim. Not wry either; there is still much hurt in this man for however or whoever landed him in this situation. More like . . . resignation, at being alone again for something he had no control over, and an attempt to gauge how someone else will react to him so he can assemble the right pieces for his mask.

Kaecilius turns around. “You will find that there are many broken people at Kamar-Taj,” he replies honestly. “Physical injury and mental injury can be equally debilitating to one’s soul. So, no, I do not find you interesting at all. Perhaps if you live I will.”

“Wow, you really don’t hold back.”

“We place truth over comfort.”

“And style over practicality?”

“When you have earned your own robes,” Kaecilius says, because his robes have been mocked before but the Ancient One has very clearly laid down rules against sparring those who do since Kaecilius tends to leave them bleeding in the dust, “then and only then may you deliver fashion advice.”

“How about a shirt and pants instead?”

And the man’s words say _fight me_ but his tone says _don’t leave me_ , but Kaecilius has never been one for pandering to those who try to play games. In Kamar-Taj, all truths eventually come out.

“In time. Maybe. Good night.”

* * *

The next time Kaecilius sees the man, he is dressed, fittingly enough, in the stark white robes of a beginner, although at least his hair has been combed out and his bruises are mostly gone. 

His deepening scowl when he spots Kaecilius brings a flare of joy that Kaecilius firmly decides against exploring.

* * *

Middle. M-I-D-D-L-E. Most people assume it means smack dab between “the beginning” and “the end”. It takes place after the protagonist or protagonists have set out on their quest but before the final showdown with the all-powerful evil or villain. It is where the team is assembled but not quite ready for full-steam-ahead efficiency. And, well, they aren’t wrong.

What they forget is that it also means equal distance from two extremes. 

And so, dear readers, this is not the beginning of their story. 

This is the middle.


	2. of heroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once I was on point with my prediction of an update!!! It's so sad that this is an exciting thing to me. *looks at the hungry WIPs at my door* *gulps nervously*

There are heroes and then there are heroes. Most of the former involve dashing pilots running in to save the day at the last minute or determined voices that speak for those who cannot or spoiled brats who evolve into last hopes and world protectors and day savers.

This story, however, contains one of the latter.

It is about a hero who keeps the line, even unto death. It is about a hero who reaches out, even for the smallest of chances. It is about a hero who calls himself a hero because to say any other name would shatter his heart and he must be strong. Because the thing is: sometimes when tragedy strikes, there is no choice but to become a hero, and to leave the decisions about right and wrong to those who come after you.

Sometimes, being a hero is about holding on, even as the ground beneath you turns to ice.

* * *

Kaecilius is not exactly surprised when the Ancient One tasks him with helping their newest recruit. His name is Adam Towers and he wants to learn how to walk again.

It is technically within their power, after all, and it is not unusual for students to begin with masters first and personal lessons later. For those desperate enough for Kamar-Taj, they often fall into two classes: those who are desperate for authority and those who despise it with every fiber of their being. Neither does well, they’ve learned, under the direct tutelage of the Ancient One. Better to start slowly and softly and work their way up.

Each master has their own teaching style. Master Mordo, for instance, prefers to batter his students, and he mainly receives those who need a firm hand and a lesson in respecting teachers.

Kaecilius, on the other hand, prefers a gentler approach. He works on the body instead of the mind, for his are the students who have spent years hardening their skin to labor and punishment; Mordo’s sparring bouts will produce nothing but those determined to harden their skin and block their ears even further. 

So Kaecilius focuses on the mind, and to be quite honest, Adam Towers is not a bad student. Rude sometimes, certainly, and prone to asking a second question before the first has even been answered, but he is clever and open to guidance and his mind is a fascinating study in contradictions. Kaecilius almost learns more from listening to the kinds of questions Adam asks than from any other gauge of his journey.

“The three sanctums protect the world,” Kaecilius says, sketching one last detail of the great magical shields conjured by London and New York and Hong Kong, “and we sorcerers protect the sanctums.”

Adam hums. He is not a twitchy student, but Kaecilius gets the impression that he might have been, before . . . well. Before. “How are resources distributed amongst the sanctums?”

Interesting.

Not _Why don’t you build more?_

Not _Why these cities?_

Not even _Why aren’t these all-powerful sanctums powerful enough to protect themselves?_

Just a simple question about how sorcerers are divided.

“The Ancient One assigns a master for each of the three sanctums. For example, Master Khan holds the New York sanctum. Each master defends the sanctum from anything that threatens it.”

“Live, eat, breathe that sanctum?” Adam says dryly.

“And die for it, if necessary.”

For a long moment, there is silence. Kaecilius smiles his shark-grin and waits for the flinch.

It never comes.

“Wow,” Adam drawls. “You are just determined to try and chase me off today, aren’t you? Is there a stain I missed somewhere on these blinding white robes you lot decided was perfect for the fresh meat?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Liar.”

“I never lie.”

“Pretty sure you just did.”

* * *

Together, they mow through vast amounts of books in the library. The librarian gets more and more resigned to their presence, until finally people start using the library as the first stop on their search for Kaecilius or Adam, not their last.

The Ancient One finds them there, one day.

“He is different,” she says.

Kaecilius says nothing. She already knew Adam was different from the moment he set foot in her presence. And it’s not like he disagrees.

“Do you sense it?”

“The mystic arts move strongly around him.”

“No. It moves strongly within him.”

“Within, around. It all becomes the same once one channels it forward.”

The Ancient One smiles. But it is a brittle smile, like a pot left too long over the fire, and requiring gentle handling lest it shatter into a thousand shards on the floor. “Oh, Kaecilius. You still have much to learn.”

“Master Khan has decided I am not ready for your . . . personal collection.” It had irked Kaecilius, to hear one master – one he once might have considered a friend, even – publicly denounce him as unworthy and unfit to read from the Book of Cagliostro. Yet Kaecilius had bowed to the pressure, because if there’s one rule he does respect, it is that there should be no disturbance to the invaluable knowledge contained in the library.

“Master Khan is not the guardian of these books.”

“He has decided he is.”

The Ancient One looks away. Even a Sorcerer Supreme has favorites, and there is no use denying it. “How are his spells? Are they acceptable?”

“He has not yet mastered the art of letting go,” Kaecilius explains. He cannot lie to her, after all. What would be the point? “He has already lost a great amount of control. The idea of letting go of his mind, so soon after the loss of his limbs, is anathema to him. He will need time.”

“Time,” the Ancient One muses softly. She sighs. “Time is something I am afraid we do not have.”

Without even thinking about it, Kaecilius finds himself gripping at the blades upon his back. It is unusual, to be sure, for a master of the mystic arts to carry physical weapons that are not relics or magically imbued in Kamar-Taj. They can conjure up any number of weapons or shields in the vast array of their skills.

Yet these blades called to Kaecilius. One day, he knows, he will need them. He trusts he will know that day when it comes.

“Is there a threat coming?”

“Yes. No. Maybe. The future is . . . difficult. But he – he will play a part. I hope that he will be ready.”

* * *

Adam finally cracks after three months. It is longer than Kaecilius expected, to be honest.

“What’s – the – point?!” he roars, snapping at Kaecilius when he comes closer. “I haven’t managed to so much as twitch a finger, much less walk!”

“In time,” Kaecilius says, because he was never good at premonitions or reading the future.

“I don’t have _time_ to wait! Do you see me? _Do you see me?!_ I’m rotting away, right here, right now, and all you can do is say things like ‘give it time’ and ‘relax’ and ‘breathe’! I am breathing! It’s not doing anything for me.”

“Adam – ”

“I hate you! I hate you and your stupid name and your stupid cult, _I hate you_!”

So Kaecilius does the natural thing: he sighs, kneels down, puts his hand against Adam’s spine, and coaxes just a little – just the tiniest – amount of magic into Adam’s side. Just enough to send lightning through his body and sparks through his soul. 

Because, in the end, he doesn’t know when or how or why, but Adam is his friend. Adam wasn’t here when Kaecilius first arrived, broken and addicted and crying more than speaking, but even if he had been, Adam is kind. He wouldn’t have cared. He wouldn’t have held it against Kaecilius when he started going out of his mind with withdrawal, when he shook and screamed and writhed and cursed and vomited and cycled through it all over again. He would have been kind, if only because underneath the bite of Adam’s words is the decency of a real human being.

Adam, of course, uses his newfound ability to walk again to fall off the bed.

Kaecilius sighs.

“I meant to do that!”

“You’ll be able to do it in time,” Kaecilius tells him, unable to help the fondness that creeps into his tone as he pulls Adam to his feet. Watching Adam walk around the room is akin to watching a baby duckling realize it can swim for the first time; it’s adorable, even if you must resist the urge to come and help when the baby falters. “I thought it was high time you got a taste of it. And – now I think I’ll leave you to reacquainted with your legs.”

Adam grabs his arm before he can even start to turn. “Kae.”

“Yes?”

“Just – no. Stay. Please.”

Kaecilius hesitates. He doesn’t mind the nickname, because Adam never uses it with the same condescending or deriding tone as the others, but he’s always been a loner, and Kamar-Taj has not changed that.

“Unless, you know, you have things to do,” Adam stammers, suddenly shy, and it’s so unlike him that Kaecilius nearly gapes at him. “Actually, scratch that, you probably do have things to do, silly me, just forget it, I’ll be fine, I swear, just – you know, see you later in the library and all and – ”

“Adam,” Kaecilius interrupts. “I’ll stay.”

The way Adam looks at him – as if he were savior and friend both – warms him from the bottom of his toes to the top of his head.

* * *

Of course, one doesn’t go from crawling to walking immediately. Kaecilius sees no issue in granting Adam the ability to walk every once in a while, as reward and motivation both, but although Adam quickly gains ground in focus and conjuring sparks and relaxing the suffocating desire for control of everything around him, the more advanced spells are beyond him.

This is why, one day, when Kaecilius comes down to the training grounds to collect Adam after his latest group lesson, he is both beyond surprised and beyond resigned when he finds only Master Mordo hanging over the Ancient One’s shoulder.

“You have dismissed the acolytes early,” Kaecilius notes.

The Ancient One flicks a fan dismissively. An outsider might see it as an acknowledgement of weakness – becoming overly warm and requiring a physical object to cool herself – but Kaecilius has seen the Ancient One flight, and that delicate looking fan can slice apart a human’s body in seconds without hesitation or effort. He, wisely, stays a step or two away from where she is turning it rhythmically end over end in her hands.

Master Mordo clears his throat. “Maybe I should – ”

“No.”

“You said two minutes.”

“And it has only been one and a half.”

“But – ”

“No.”

Kaecilius clears his throat. Favorite student or not, the Ancient One still gave Adam to him to mentor and guide. “And where, might I ask, have you sent Adam?”

The answer stops time in its tracks.

“If he survives, he has the potential to be among the strongest of us all.”

“The correct phrase,” Kaecilius snarls, barely suppressing the urge to slam his blades against the unbending edge of the Ancient One’s fans, “is ‘when’ he survives. Not ‘if’.”

“You don’t trust me?”

Kaecilius makes his answer a portal one inch from the Ancient One’s feet, sending an icy wind and half a sheet of snowflakes to settle upon her face and clothing. Master Mordo inclines his head and neatly steps to the side, but the Ancient One doesn’t move at all. In fact, she doesn’t even blink, but for the first time, Kaecilius cannot read her face. In the past, his little rebellions have inspired amusement or faint annoyance, but now – now he sees nothing but indecision. As if he is not the student she took under her wing and trained.

“You gave Adam to me. Move,” Kaecilius says softly.

The Ancient One sighs, snaps her fan shut, and replies, “So I did. Watch him very carefully, then.”

* * *

If he had been in his right mind, Kaecilius would have manifested a warming shield around him, but right now he is so far out of his right mind that he doesn’t even notice the freezing wind cutting straight through his robes. All he can see is snow and ice and more snow, and it disturbs him that he is wasting time trying to find someone who should be very easily visible amongst the snow.

“Adam!”

The mountain takes his call and echoes it back, yet still there is no response.

“Adam! Adam, answer me! ADAM!”

_Not another one,_ his heart chants, a word a beat. _Not one more, not Adam, not him, not Adam –_

His foot hits something.

Kaecilius’s heart stops for a second time in a matter of five seconds, and he falls to his feet to dig frankly at in the snow, desperate for something, _anything_ , that might lead him to Adam. His fingers grow cold and wet, the snow and ice giving way to the fire he conjures, but by the time he uncovers a mound the height of his forearm, he still hasn’t found anything – no fallen sling ring, no shoes or scraps of robes, no body.

And then he brushes against something that’s just the tiniest bit warmer than the snow.

More digging unveils not a human, but a tiny brown kitten, so cold it’s only warm to Kaecilius fingers because his fingers are near falling off.

Yet Kaecilius’s magic whispers _yes_ , even as his brain blinks in shock, so he scoops up the kitten, shoves it deep into his robes against the fire in his heart, and then tosses them both back to Kamar-Taj.

* * *

The Ancient One is nowhere to be found when he steps foot into the courtyard. It’s most certainly a good thing, because Kaecilius already causes quite the commotion when he storms through the courtyard and the hallways to his room, clutching his precious bundle of wet fur and slow-beating heart to his chest.

A few motions and a second of concentration prepares a bath, and another second sends his clothing in a pile to the floor so he can lower himself inside and concentrate the warmth of the water.

After only a few minutes, the kitten starts stirring. At first it cuddles close, murmuring sweet little mewls as Kaecilius gives into the temptation to pet its soft, soft fur. But then, once its mind starts returning, it starts squirming and flexing its claws, releasing imperious little meows and twisting and turning until it’s more like a slippery snake than a wet, disheveled kitten the size of Kaecilius’s palms.

“Oh, hush, you,” Kaecilius says, as he transfer them to the bed and tucks the kitten back against his chest, folding warm blankets around them both. 

The kitten freezes, claws pricking against Kaecilius’s skin. “Mew?” it says.

Kaecilius scritches one soft ear. “It’s me. You know my voice. Relax. I promise that you are safe.”

“Mew,” the kitten says, and now it’s less worried and even more imperious. 

“I am your teacher. I am responsible for you. Of course I brought you back.”

“Mew,” the kitten says, ears drooping and eyes squeezed tight, sounding like someone’s just stepped on its tail. 

“It was an entirely unethical way of pushing you to success anyways. I wouldn’t worry.”

“Mew – ”

“I said _hush_. Tonight, we are going to focus on keeping you alive. Everything else – everything else can wait for tomorrow, I promise.”

The kitten emerges from the depths of his chest, blue eyes wide and unblinking. Then, gently, it leans forward and nudges its wet, still cold little nose against Kaecilius’s nose, and he can’t help but laugh, even as he curls into his bed and surrounds them in a cocoon of warmth, drawing from the blankets and the warm steam from the bath and the spark that blooms in his chest at the mere thought of Adam, gentle, sweet, fiery little Adam, as fierce as a cat as he is as a human.

“You’re welcome,” Kaecilius whispers.

* * *

In the morning, Kaecilius wakes to find Adam restored, no longer a sweet tiny kitten, but a sweet lithe human, blue eyes just as wide and unblinking.

This time, instead of Adam’s nose, it is Adam’s lips that meets Kaecilius’s.

“You’re my hero,” Adam says.

And for the first time, Kaecilius feels the great weight that drags down his shoulders lift, just a little. He couldn’t have saved his family, but maybe, just maybe, he can save Adam instead, and that will be enough.

* * *

End. E-N-D. Most people assumes that it occurs at the conclusion of the story. It takes place after the climax and after the villain has been revealed and summarily defeated. It is where the team sits back and eat foods and cleans up the mess left beneath. And, well, they aren’t wrong.

What they forget is that it also signals the start of something new.

And so, dear readers, this is not the middle of their story.

This is the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter's theme will be "of villains". You might see where I'm going with this.
> 
> Also sincere thank-yous to the members of the Hannigram Therapy Group, since it was their discussion of Mads cuddling with kittens that inspired the last scene which in turn inspired this entire fic. *blows kisses*

**Author's Note:**

> The next chapter is half written. The theme will be "heroes".


End file.
